


Vikings shorties

by Udunie



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Kid Fic, Multi, Viking Family Feels, non consensual tattoing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/pseuds/Udunie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of short stories for the show Vikings</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> "Athelstan/Ragnar/Lagertha family-raising cuteness"  
> This was requested by fangirl-squee on tumblr.  
> (Okay so I will disregard the miscarriage, because it hurts and I can)

All of Kattegat knew that their new earl was one favored by the Gods; his bountiful western raids would have been proof enough, but when in the middle of a warm summer, the lady Lagertha’s time came and she gave birth to not one, but _two_ sons, all of the people rejoiced and drank to their earl’s greatness and wished him a safe return to his enlarged family.

 

When Ragnar landed at the end of the raiding season he couldn’t believe his ears when Siggy greeted him at the docks. Not daring to believe that he was so blessed, he hurried to his home near the Thing and what he found there made him stop in his tracks.

Lagertha was resting on a bed of furs, with a baby on her breast with Gyda sitting beside her and listening closely to whatever wisdom of mothers she was sharing. Björn was sharpening his sword by the fire, adding logs to the hearth from time to time to keep the room warm against the chill of the autumn, just like a man who learned to anticipate his family’s needs.

And Athelstan… The priest was sitting in an armchair, head bent backwards at a painful looking angle as he slept, his mouth open and snoring softly, with another infant secured to his chest in a sling of fabric.

Ragnar took a careful step into the house, and his children - his older children - immediately ran to him, greeting him and asking hushed questions of his travels with the same breath.

Ragnar hugged them tight, promising to tell them stories later and stepped up to his wife; Lagertha seemed tired, but well. She was even more beautiful with the light of fresh motherhood shining from her eyes.

“Husban, welcome home.” She said with a smile, and carefully placed the - now sleeping - baby in his arms. “Meet Ivar,” She said, then inclined her head towards Athelstan “And that is Sigurd.”

Ragnar held his son close to his chest and made his way over to the priest, peering down at the other child on his chest. He had half a mind to nudge his servant awake when he felt his wife come up behind him.

“Let him rest, my love. I think he slept even lest than me in these past months.”

Ragnar took a closer look at the man, and yes, he could see the dark circles under his eyes and the pallor of his skin. He couldn’t help but frown. He was an earl now, he had other servants and there was really no need for Athelstan to run himself ragged.

It was like Lagertha could read his mind.

“He wouldn’t have anyone else care for your sons. He even chased Siggy away, even though she has much more experience. He said, now that you’re an earl you have enemies too, and he doesn’t trust anyone around your children.”

Ragnar couldn’t help but chuckle at his wife’s obviously fond words.

Well fine, he wold let his priest sleep just a little longer.


	2. Like a Rock in the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collection of short stories for the show Vikings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> winter-mischief game me this prompt on tumblr:  
> One of the village girls or visitors takes interest in Athelstan. Ragnar teases Athelstan about it.

There was a feast. Athelstan have long ago came to the realization, that there was always a reason for feasting where the Northerns were concerned. 

His place was near the high table, where Ragnar and his family sat, and he noticed that a few man gave him curious glances. Most of the people of Kattegat was still unsure of his position; he came as a slave and foreigner, and even though he no longer stuck out like a sore thumb, he was not a warrior or one of the servants running around the halls with heavy plates.

If he wanted to be honest, he wasn’t even sure himself. Ragnar treated him however the fancy stuck him; he was a nanny one moment, and adviser the next, or ordered around like a common thrall. 

He mostly just didn’t think about it.

Gerrid, the seamstress’ daughter sat down beside him, offering him a horn full of mead and he took it gratefully. Gerrid was a nice girl, not beautiful like Lagertha, and not bright like Ragnar, but pleasant company nonetheless. She spent a lot of time at the earl’s household lately; apparently one of Lagertha’s new dresses needed a lot of adjustments, and she always made time to seek him out afterwards to share a few words.

“Athelstan,” she said with a little smile in greeting, and raised her cup to him. He returned the gesture, drinking deeply. One of the things he appreciated about her was that she never called him  _priest_ , like the Lodbroks still did, even though it had been almost a year ago that Lagertha manhandled him out of his rook and burned it.

They talked for a while, about the weather, the crops, the bounty of the season’s raids… Gerrid leaned close to him so they could converse in the busy hall, and Athelstan felt himself unconsciously doing the same. 

The feast was long, soon becoming a bit too cheerful and Athelstan didn’t miss Ragnar’s nod towards the backrooms where the earl’s friends and family would continue their celebration, away from the noisy masses. He excused himself, helping Gerrid to her feet as she moved to stand, they stood there for an awkward moment, like she was waiting for something. Athelstan wondered if there were still customs he haven’t learned that prompted her hesitancy to let him go…

 

 

As soon as he stepped into the backroom, Floki whistled long and loud, with Helga laughing at his side.

“Who would have thought?” the ship-maker grinned, “Our little boy is growing up!”

Rollo laughed, mean and deep as he always did when it was something to do with Athelstan, and raised his drinking horn to him.

“Yes, he seems to be on the way to really become one of us; since he’s too puny to prove himself on the battlefield, he will have to earn his place in Valhalla in the bed!”

Athelstan felt his brows draw together, not having any idea what they were talking about. Nothing good, probably. He looked to Ragnar for explanation, though he didn’t hope that the earl would save him the teasing, whatever it was about.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that!” Ragnar said with his trademark grin on his face, patting the bench beside him. Lagertha chuckled from his other side.

Athelstan did as he was bid, and sat down with the feeling of making his way through a bog.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He said, and apparently it was a mistake, seeing that everyone started laughing.

The earl put a heavy arm around him.

“Well, the good Gerrid of course! Don’t tell me you didn’t notice her taking every chance to be alone with you?”

Athelstan shifted in his seat. He never thought of Gerrid that way, but now that it came to his attention, it seemed there was truth in the words.

“I would ne…” Before he could finish the sentence, Ragnar slapped his hand over his mouth.

“Never say never, priest!” He smirked, pulling his hand away when Athelstan shook his head. “What is your problem with Gerrid? She’s perfectly fine! A little dull, a little grey, but a fine girl.” he said “And since we could never lure you to our bed, I expect to be invited after she finally gets rid of your silly reluctance.” 

Athelstan felt his face burn as the blood rushed to his head. Even though Ragnar and Lagertha never repeated their invitation, they made sure he knew that it was still open.

For a year, he stood like a rock in the sea of their advances, and even now, when he apparently found someone interested in him, Ragnar just wouldn’t leave it alone.

Lagertha stood, and walked around them to press herself along the priest’s other side and put a hand on his knee.

“Are you sure about that, Husband? Our poor Saxon won’t know what to do with her! She will run for the hills after their first night together, and you will never have you sweet threesome.” She said, talking close to Athelstan’s ear.

“Hm… and what would you suggest, woman?”

Lagertha’s hand traveled slowly upwards on Athelstan’s thigh, and he closed his eyes, hoping to find some strength to bat her away. He failed.

“Well, he’s our responsibility, isn’t he? It would make us look foolish to let such an ignorant man-child loose on all the women of Kategatt. I think before he tries his luck with Gerrid, we should give him a crash course in the art of love…”

“Wise words, my love,” Ragnar said, and his rough, calloused hand joined hers on the quest of unfastening Athelstan’s trousers.

“What do you say, priest?”

For more than a year now, he stood like a rock battered by the waves of the ocean. But even rocks didn’t last forever.


	3. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> firechildslytherin5 asked:  
> Athelstan went with Ragnar back to England to raid (maybe to became a citizen) & Athelstan came face to face with his past meeting his former Monk Brothers from a nearby monastery. This idea is mainly about Athelstan disbanding his Christian life and becoming one of the Norse and the Gods & how he reflect his past life & now along with knowing that there is no going back as he raise his blooded sword
> 
> Well, to be honest this prompt got a bit away from me, and it turned out pretty angsty... Anyway, I hope you like it!

When Ragnar came home after four long months from King Horik’s mission with a pregnant woman in tow, Athelstan made his choice. Lagertha was leaving and she planned to take at least Gyda with her - knowing that Björn would have to stay with his father. 

Ragnar didn’t want to let her daughter leave either, but Lagertha told him in front of the Thing, that she would challenge him for her, and the priest could see the moment the Jarl realized how truly and completely he lost his family.

He lost Athelstan too. He couldn’t stay, not after Uppsala. He knew that the whole family was aware why his master took him there, but still, the betrayal aching in his chest was of Ragnar’s doing.

Ragnar didn’t try to stop him

They went east, the four of them - Arne joining in the last minute to everyone surprise - they went far, for months, leaving Kattegat behind and wishing for their memories to fade.

Lagertha was strong, even in the shame Ragnar’s actions put on her, and she took care of her daughter with so much love that Athelstan’s heart was bleeding with it.

They traveled along the coast, until they found a village. It wasn’t big, but it was without a leader; a long and bloody fight for the title of Jarl leaving behind too many woman and too few people who could wield a sword to protect them.

Lagertha saw her chance and took it. The people didn’t trust her, not at first, not being used to obeying a woman, but when a band of outlaws attacked them one night and they saw her in battle, brandishing her weapons like a Valkyrie, better than any of them, they spoke no more ill of her.

It was peaceful; even the king left them alone - maybe as a consolation, but they didn’t care. They started trading, since there weren’t enough warriors to fill a ship the first few years, and the village slowly grew with wealth and people.

But Lagertha didn’t let her guard down. She sat in the Thing, took offerings, handed out armbands and taught Gyda how to use a shield.

Athelstan started to learn the art of fighting at the same time. 

Between his lady and Arne - both of whom mastered fighting with the disadvantage of smaller physical power - he trained his body to be as quick as his mind. It was exhausting, turning the soft flesh of a foreign slave into the wiry frame of a warrior, but he managed.

He spent the nights with Lagertha. She didn’t take him as a husband, and he didn’t want her to, but they offered each-other all the pleasures that lips and tongues and clever fingers could offer.

Before long, the seventh year of their exile came, and with it a viking ship, sailing along the coast.

It was Floki. The boat builder didn’t recognize him at first, Athelstan wasn’t surprised; his beard was kept short, but he let his hair grow out and Gyda braided it with silver amulets. Of course, he still stood out from the fair-haired inhabitants of this land; Lagertha joked sometimes that he looked like one of Odin’s ravens came to life, and their people simply called him Blakkr now. Sometimes he forgot he had any other name.

Floki brought news. Ragnar fell captive in England and Aslaug refused to send enough men to free him - she claimed that her young sons needed protection, that it would be foolish to leave Kattegat defenseless - but a few, Ragnar’s old brothers in arms led by Björn took a boat anyway. 

Floki was asking for their help.

That night Athelstan lay awake with Lagertha, and even though neither of them uttered a word, by morning they made their decision.

Gyda was left behind to rule in her mother’s absence. They took two boats along with the one Floki brought and sailed West.

They were only a few days behind Björn and his uncle, and they followed the trail of blood they left behind all the way to one of King Aelle’s forts.

Meeting the boy - now a man - after all this time was a shock, and Athelstan now understood what it must have been like for Floki seeing him after all these years.

Björn hugged his mother to his chest, and after taking a long look at him, he clapped Athelstan on the shoulder.

The battle was like Ragnarok on earth. After years of Viking raids, the king didn’t make the mistake of under-staffing his forts, but there was nothing to stop the heathens led by a shield-maiden and the son of the most powerful Jarl on the east.

Athelstan fought in the first line, back-to-back with Arne or Rollo or Floki or whoever was nearest, and his blood sang along with the chime of metal on metal.

He found Brother Bartholomew near the gates of the dungeon. 

You don’t have time to  _really_  think in a battle, but in that moment, Athelsan did.

He thought about Ragnar, about why he left him. Athelstan knew that he was taken to Uppsala all those years ago to be killed, he knew that Ragnar believed that it was the only way for Athestan to reach Valhalla, to be there when his master came, to be together with him after death - forever.

But Ragnar didn’t understand it. Athelstan had faith once; clean and innocent, but it was chipped away by violence and slavery, by unanswered prayers and the sounds of fucking in the night, by unborn children and good people dying for bad ones. He had  _no_  faith - he didn’t just lose his faith in the God of the Christians, but in all of them. Where were the Aesir when Jarl Haraldson needed them? Where were they when Lagertha lay in a bloody bed? Nowhere.

He didn’t leave Ragnar for trying to kill him, he left him because he didn’t understand that he took everything from Athelstan; his freedom, his faith, his innocence… and after all that is pealed away he was left with the few short years he had on this earth, and then  _nothing_  afterwards.

And still, he was here, fighting for him along with the very woman Ragnar betrayed. It seemed that they would never be free from that wicked smile, that burning spirit, no matter how far they ran.

Athelstan ran Brother Bartholomew through.

Ragnar was fire, scorching everything and everyone, but what were these few years on earth worth without the warmth of it?


	4. Invisible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> antonomasia09 asked:  
> Between eps 1x06 and 1x07 Athelstan finds out that Rollo is plotting against his brother. Athelstan tries to tell Ragnar, who refuses to believe him over his own kin.
> 
> I have no idea how long I will ride the angst train, but here I am...

Athelstan is invisible.

He isn’t considered a man by the heathens’ standards, he isn’t a woman they would turn after and he isn’t a shaved headed thrall they can order around for their own amusement.

He has no talent useful for his masters, and he has no place between the Jarl’s servants, and because of that, he is everywhere.

Sometimes he helpes in the kitchens or with serving at feast, or with any other chore that doesn’t need training, and he is happy with that; Ragnar is too intense whenever he pays Athelstan attention, and Lagertha is temptation personified.

He isn’t an eavesdropper by nature, usually happy to mind his own business, but that day, when he feeds the animals he hears voices he knows from behind the barn.

“…and when will that be?” Siggy asks, and Athelstan wants to move, and leave her alone with whoever she’s conversing with, but the answer stopps him in his tracks.

“Soon, I told you. Why are you nagging me constantly?” 

It’s Rollo. Athelstan can’t really explain it, but he doesn’t trust him. There’s always a note of cruelty in his laughter, a dangerous glint in his eyes when he looks at Lagertha.

He sounds annoyed now, and that makes Athelstan stay, not wanting to leave Siggy alone with such a man.

“You promised to give me what was taken from me, you promised to be the Jarl I could rule with, but all I see is you licking your brothers boots!” she says as Athelstan feels dread settle in his stomach.

“I know what I said! He won’t be Jarl for long, do not worry your pretty little head; we are going raiding when the summer comes. Kattegat will mourn the Jarl if he falls in battle, but think nothing of it, and then everything will be ours…”

Athelstan backs away slowly, suddenly scared to death of alerting them to his presence. He goes to the kitchen like nothing happened, and sits in a corner pealing roots, his head reeling with thoughts.

He makes his decision by the time evening comes.

Athelstan knows that he hesitated too long when he sees that Ragnar is already well into his mead, but he can’t wait anymore.

His master doesn’t believe him; when he finishes his account of what he heard, the Jarl is towering over him.

“You’re mad. Rollo is my blood, he would never hurt me!”

“No! please believe me, he’s planning something, he’s going to…”

Athelstan hits the floor hard when Ragnar backhands him, more from surprise than from the strength of the blow, but he can still feel the inside of his mouth bleed.

He stays where he fell, holding the side of his face gingerly.

“Do not dare speak ill of my kin again, priest, or the next time I will have your tongue cut out of your treacherous mouth,” Ragnar tells him, though for a second he seems just as shocked as Athelstan feels.

He looks away, not able to look into those blazing blue eyes anymore, tasting defeat in the back of his throat.

“May your Gods protect you, Ragnar Lodbrok,” he whispers quietly as he watches his master leave him alone in the room.

Nobody notices the bruise he has for more than a week.

Athelstan is invisible.


	5. Invisible - sequel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short sequel for the previous chapter titled 'Invisible'  
> Hope you guys like it!

The Gods grant his wish, or maybe it was _his_ God… Sometimes he wonders who he prays to.

Ragnar comes home alive after the summer raid, but he’s injured; stabbed in the back by someone in the heat of the last battle. Athelstan doesn’t speak up. He looks at Rollo as he recounts their victories in the Thing, and doesn’t do anything. 

His face is long healed, and he doesn’t hold a grudge, but he is at a loss.

He did his share. He kept a close watch on Siggy since the men departed, and stole the glass of mead she doctored with something that was meant for Lagertha. He took the mead and gave it to one of the stray dogs that always hang around the village. The bitch that drank it lay in agony for hours on the ground, though it didn’t die.

He thought that was enough. Still, the knot in Athelstan’s stomach won’t loosen.

He is by Ragnar as he heals. Not  _with_  him, never alone with him in the room, but around. He creeps on the corridors and wrestles every plate out of the servants’ hands to taste the food. They probably think him crazy, but don’t tell on him.

He knows Lagertha is watching him closely, hands on her ever growing stomach, but still, he doesn’t speak up. He has nothing to say that he haven’t told Ragnar.

In the end it isn’t poison, nor a battle wound, but an assassin’s blade between the ribs.

They are at the market; all the Lodbroks and a few servants, Athelstan among them, because he can carry their purchase if nothing else.

The man is small, dark haired and hungry looking. A foreigner. But the constant vigilance is so much part of Athelstan now, that when the knife finally cuts through fabric and skin and flesh and muscle, it is his own, and not his master’s.

The assassin doesn’t know who hired him; a man with long hair and a beard. Ragnar takes the knife that was meant for him and locks himself in the room with the foreigner.

When he emerges the man is dead, but not before telling him of a tattoo his employer wore on his skin, and it’s enough.

Ragnar’s face is cold and hard like a rock that had been whacked into angles by an axe as he condemns his brother. He takes the sword from the executioner’s hand and cuts him down himself, lifting Rollo’s head from the ground and tossing it into Siggy’s arms. He tells her to run.

But Athelstan isn’t aware of any of this, he is sleeping; his flesh hot with infection, shivering and sweating and ready to give up.

It takes a week for the fever to break.

He hears a voice first, low and repetitive like a prayer and for a second he dreams himself back to Lindisfarne. 

When he finally opens his eyes, Ragnar has their foreheads pressed together; there are dark circles under his closed eyes and he says:

“Come back to me, Athelstan. Come back. Come back to me…”

And Athelstan does.


	6. Runes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> firechildslytherin5:   
> Viking prompt: Athelstan get his first tattoo.

Okay, so I need to take my mind off the finale. This will be an AU, because I can not deal.

Athelstan didn’t know when his fascination started, but it was the first time he saw the men have a friendly fight in the town-square that he came aware of it. They were warriors, and he already had a healthy amount of respect and awe for the way they moved in combat - colored with a lick of fear.

They moved with a violent grace, every strike carrying the promise of death, but that wasn’t what caught his eye; it was the signs on their skin. There were intricate knots, animals, some religious symbols even he recognized, like Thor’s hammer…

They looked stunning. The contrast of the skin and the strong, black lines almost made him believe that there was unseen power behind the designs.

Of course, Floki noticed him staring.

Athelstan had to realize early on, that there were very few things that the ship-maker didn’t notice.

“You are a learned man…” he started, sliding up to him in the crowd, “Ragnar boasted about it, how you had no other work than writing your letters and painting in your books.”

“Yes, I copied codexes and the Holy Bible,” Athelstan replied carefully, he never knew what to think of Floki.

The Norse man hummed, and didn’t talk again for a long while, though the priest noticed that his eyes kept wandering around, not paying attention to the fight. His gaze stopped at a raven sitting at the top of the Thing, it’s head was turned and Athelstan had the uncomfortable feeling that it was watching them.

Floki grabbed the sleeve of his shirt.

“You will come with me, priest.” That was all he said, and the next moment he was dragged out of the crowd, with Floki crying Helga’s name.

The woman found them fast.

“Tell Ragnar I’m taking his slave with me, and then hurry after us,” he told her. She lifted an eyebrow but didn’t object, probably well used to the man’s crazy ideas.

Maybe it was shock that sealed Athelstan’s lips, but he didn’t even think to protest.

By the time night fell, they were at the ship-maker’s house, and Floki was murmuring to himself, rummaging in a chest.

“What are you doing?” he asked him, half weary, half curious.

“Hm… If you think the seer is the only one who can have a peek at the secrets behind the things visible to man, then you’re wrong. I’m a man of many talents, priest. Now, go and chop some wood, we need to build a good fire in here.”

Athelstan did as he was told, though it took him a long time to get it done, and by the time he finished Helga caught up to them. 

She just took a look at what Floki was doing - playing with bone-shards that had symbols etched into them, and mixing something in a bowl simultaneously - and gave Athelstan a smile.

“I will make you a drink, priest,” she said.

He knew something wasn’t right, but he learned enough about the heathen’s hospitality of the heathens to know that he couldn’t refuse the horn Helga offered to him. Just as he suspected, it was doctored with something, as after the first few gulps he already felt like he was swinging in time with the blood cursing in his veins.

“Maybe you should lay down,” Floki said, and he was lead to a bed of furs. He didn’t remember when he lost his shirt.

“Do you know what day is today?” the ship-maker asked him, and Athelstan felt strangely disoriented as he shook his head. He lost count of the Lord’s days long ago.

“It’s been a year since you stepped on this land,” Floki said.

Helga forced him to drink some more of that devilish concoction, then rubbed something into his stomach, just under his chest. Even though the ever growing haze covering his mind, Athelstan felt a cold touch of fear around his heart.

“Please, don’t…” His thoughts were in disarray, but he tried to make his body obey and bat her away.

Floki caught his wrists easily while Helga pushed his shoulders back to the bed.

“Tell me, priest, who do you belong to?” he asked, and his voice sounded far away.

“Ragnar Lodbrok,” Athelstan replied without thought, and somehow saying that name calmed him down.

Floki smiled above him.

“Then fear not, little man.”

***

When he woke up the next morning, he had a headache. He tried to remember what happened, but all his mind could come up with was the memory of pain a heat. Just thinking about it made him nauseous.

There were bandages around his torso, and he had the crazy thought that Floki decided to sacrifice him… He carefully pealed the cloth away, and what he found made his heart stop.

“Don’t poke at it,” Helga said from the corner, startling him bad. She came over and put the bandages back with practiced fingers, then pushed a small jar into his hand.

“Use this salve two or three times a day, and don’t scratch,” she ordered “It will take a fortnight to heal. You can go now.”

Athelstan looked at her with wide eyes.

“But… But what does it mean? What have you done to me?”

She gave him a long look.

“Nothing that didn’t need to be done. Now leave, Floki said Ragnar would be angry if you stayed away for too long.”

Athelstan made his way back to Kattegat slowly, his mind was reeling; one moment he felt grateful, horrified the next, but he was overwhelmed either way.

When he finally arrived, it was obvious that Ragnar was angry with him. The earl just took one look at his stooped frame, and ignored him for the rest if the night.

Athelstan didn’t understand what was happening, so he did everything in his power to be useful, but that just seemed to annoy his master even more and even Lagertha wasn’t far behind.

By the end of the week the situation escalated so far, that Ragnar threw a cup at his head at the feast, cutting the skin above his eyebrow.

Athelstan just stood there frozen, until Floki of all people pushed a cloth to his forehead, glaring daggers at his friend.

“Ragnar Lodbrok, I haven’t worked this hard for you to be an ignorant fool. Take your priest to your room, and ask him what you must.”

Ragnar was obviously taken aback, and Athelstan wasn’t sure that it would be wise to be alone with him right now, but when the earl stood and motioned for him to follow, he obeyed.

The room was dim and warm, and the furs on the bed so rich that they reflected the light of the fire.

“Tell me then, priest, how was your night with Floki and Helga?” he asked, his temper obviously back.

Athelstan stared at him dumbly.

“Now, come on! Don’t be shy, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, but maybe I really should know what made you say yes to them, when you refused my and Lagertha’s offer…”

“They drugged me and then Floki draw symbols into my skin,” he said bluntly.

Ragnar dropped his mead and swallowed.

“What?”

“Floki dragged me away and made me drunk on one of your hellish herbs. And then they held me down and draw…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, because Ragnar was in front of him in two large steps, his eyes burning in the low light.

“Show me,” he ordered, and Athelstan felt himself shiver.

He gingerly lifted his shirt; the tattoo was healing nicely, but it was still sensitive to touch.

Ragnar dropped to his knees and turned him towards the fire with strong hand on his hips to better see.

Athelstan took a shaky breath at their position, but tried desperately to get his wits around him. His master seemed shocked.

“Do you know what they mean? Floki wouldn’t tell me and I was too afraid to ask anyone, not knowing what magic he carved into my skin…”

Ragnar lifted a shaky hand and traced the lines.

“This one,” he said thickly “is Odin’s cross,” he whispered, following the shape of the circle with the equal armed cross in it. “It’s the sign of my father and protector.

“These,” Ragnar counted the four runes in the corners of the cross “are the letters of my people, though they are much more than that. This one is ‘raido’ it means journey. The next is ‘laguz’ - water, that gives life to everything. Under that is ‘gebo’, it means gift and next to it is ‘berkanan’ - birch or light…”

Athelstan felt goosebumps rise on his whole body. Odin was the father of the gods, the deity Ragnar counted as his ancestor, and the runes… Ragnar, Lagertha, Gyda and Björn. 

Ragnar rested his forehead against him for a second, then kissed the middle of the cross.

“It means you are ours.”

(A/N: wow this took ages… anyway, I hope you like!)

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to give me a shorty prompt, hit me up at udunie(.)tumblr(.)com(/)ask


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